INFINITY CHALLENGE - REDVINES
by SailorSilvanesti
Summary: 30 Prompts in 30 Days for your favourite Fandom OTP. From Hogwarts to Zombies, Spies to Superheroes, there's a prompt & a fiction for everything... Here, RedVines or Ron Weasley & Neville Longbottom are the Chosen OTP... Read & Review.
1. Prompt 1: Hogwarts (Day 1)

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in Harry Potter, however, RedVines was sort of something we came up with on my page through collaboration.**

**I am partaking in the INFINITY CHALLENGE, 30 Days, 30 Prompts per OTP.**

**From the Potter Fandom, I have chosen: Ron/Neville, or 'RedVines'.**

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**INFINITY CHALLENGE: HARRY POTTER**

**[Unusual OTP: Ron/Neville]**

**Ship Name: REDVINES**

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**Day 1: Hogwarts Prompt**

**~*A Gryffindor's Heart for Courage*~**

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Condensation fogged up the small patch of window that piercing blue eyes stared out through, flinching as pale skin briefly brushed against the cold glass that a small horde of raindrops were pounding resolutely against.

He sighed sadly, turning away from the ominous visage of heavy grey clouds packing the sky, clutching both hands to the rapidly-cooling mug of what had once been piping-hot tea in some exotic flavour he probably couldn't pronounce. Something told him that the fact he had awoken to the sight of the blood-red beverage container quietly steaming on his bedside dresser, was a sign that the house elf Dobby was taking his promise to Harry rather seriously. '_Look after Master's Wheezy_' indeed.

A smile had briefly flickered across his face at the sight, but died as the realisation of the day's significance made its way through the fuzzy sleep-induced haze. The redhead groaned loudly as yesterday's Quidditch practice caught up to his present, alerting him that he had strained more than a few muscles despite the restful night of sleep he'd had by aching dully. Though, to be fair, it was _quite_ early.

Unusual though it was for him, the youngest male Weasley had awoken far earlier than was his norm; especially given the circumstances. Perhaps it was anxiety?

No matter the reason, he had made a promise and fully intended to keep it no matter what petty excuses came to mind. Thunder grumbled through the skies as he rolled both shoulders, popping and cracking everything physically possible; sighing in satisfaction as tired muscles responded to the gentle stretching.

The cup clattered as he placed it back on the nightstand to be collected later by the House Elves who came in, every day without fail, to change the sheets and clean the sparsely occupied dormitory. Part of him wished Harry was here right now, but on the other hand, he hoped his best mate was having the time of his life on his first real holiday in… well, _ever_. Those Dursley muggles didn't strike him as the type to take vacations to exotic places, much less bring along the nephew they utterly loathed with abandon.

The Grangers were just the balm to help heal the damage done by those fat idiots, and since Harry was dating Hermione, it only made sense to drag the teen along on their family holiday to the ski fields of… actually, he couldn't remember. He really needed to pay more attention when those two were talking at him… er_, to him_.

Wasn't really his fault if he'd been distracted by a certain brunette across the table from him…

His heart felt heavy within his chest as the subject came around once again; constricting almost painfully as his ocean-coloured eyes swept across the room to the only other occupant of the dorms at this time of year.

Brown hair obscured half of the visible face, seeming strangely childlike and vulnerable in the early morning light. One arm wound about a pillow, with rumpled sheets twisted all about the other, which made the redhead smile; he looked, as his mother would put it, 'as snug as a bug in a rug'.

The only things marring the visage of tranquillity before him were the faint tear tracks still visible on the other boy's pale cheeks. Sad reminders from the night before, when muffled sobs had echoed through the almost-empty dormitory as his brunette angel had tried to conceal all the conflicting emotions of worry, grief and pain in his soul from the only other occupant, until Ron could stand it no longer.

He remembered flinging the sheets off his own bed and taking the necessary steps across the cold, dark floor to the other boy; sitting upon the side of the bed until long into the night, just stroking the soft strands of his hair and listening to the endless stream of incoherent babbling as the shaking teen let grief-stricken words tumble from trembling lips. Because that's what boyfriends do.

This time of year was always hard on Neville, but now…

Ron sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose, why must terrible things happen to good people? What possible crime had Neville _insanely-adorable _Longbottom committed against the universe that it had it out for him? It just didn't add up.

For the umpteenth time this week he wished that the both of them were home –his home, the Burrows- because if anyone knew how to help his boyfriend, it was his mother. Molly Weasley was a formidable, but knowledgeable woman… and hands down the best mother on the entire planet; and Ron would sell his prized Chudley Cannons memorabilia to have her beside him right now.

She would know what to say to Neville to help him through this. His mother would probably then round on Ron and tell her youngest boy to stop being so self-centred, that the boy on that bed needed his strength and love more now than ever before so he'd better get to it!

But she wasn't here.

Molly Weasley was many, many miles distant at the Burrows, running from one room to the next, up and down the winding staircases, tending to her ailing brood as they suffered through some insane experimentation of the twins gone wrong. Some form of new Skiving Snackbox treat had not gone to plan and actively poisoned both Fred and George, who had not shown symptoms until after accidentally exposing the rest of the family by sending some prototype 'Plague Pralines' back to the Burrow. The package had been meant to go to their room, of course, but as fate –and their insanely old owl Errol- would have it, they landed on the Kitchen table where his parents had thought them a gift and shared them with their visiting children.

The only member who had been unaffected other than himself was Ginny, but as fate would have it, she –and several other of the twins classmates including their best friend, Lee Jordan- came into direct physical contact with the identical duo; which was apparently how this disease spread. When the twins and their friends fell ill, Dumbledore owled their parents to inform them that St Mungos would be personally looking into this case –for the twins had yet to devise an antidote at the time of contraction, and were currently in no fit state to do any concocting at the current time.

Molly Weasley had firmly responded that her three ill children must return home immediately, fortuitously days before the Christmas Holidays, as her household was already affected and it would cause more bother for them to be within the school's walls. The Headmaster had queried after her own health in concern, but was politely rebutted; nothing short of, or perhaps even, the killing curse itself could force Molly Weasley down and out when her family was in danger.

In any case, she reasoned, St Mungos could easily apprise her of any progress by owl, but the question of what to do with Ron, and Neville – who had been residing at the Weasley abode with boyfriend and family for almost a full year now, after his dear Gran had passed away peacefully just after the previous Christmas- ,was answered by Professor Dumbledore himself. The pair would be accommodated within the school grounds for as long as was necessary, and she should not worry herself over them, as Professor McGonagall would take a personal interest in their welfare. Which Ron had been certain was secret adult code for '_McGonagall will make sure they don't do anything too ludicrous while you are too indisposed to chastise them'_, he supposed he ought to be grateful to the man. Maybe they should get him a nice pair of socks for Christmas?

Blinking rapidly back to the present, Ron looked around in surprise at the sudden silence; it seemed oddly eerie after the monotonous pounding of raindrops all morning long. Illogical as it seemed, snow was slowly drifting from the skies in languid, dreamy dances, each flashing and shining briefly before touching down to castle and grounds below. Ah well, no time better than the present to awaken the other…

Neville liked the snow, it reminded him of a time back when… well, before his parents had been-…

Come to think of it, the redhead squinted out the window thoughtfully, this sudden change of weather had Dumbledore written all over it; wouldn't surprise him the least if the old Headmaster had tried to lighten the brevity of the day with a happy memory. As if to prove his thoughts true, the descending snowflakes began to change into a myriad of colours, creating a multi-coloured tableau below that was sure to draw the other's interest.

_Bless the crazy old man_, Ron thought to himself, _he was quite brilliant at times_.

"R-Ron?" croaked a sleep-laced voice as tired eyes appeared through hooded lids. At the sound of his name, the redhead whirled about and strode over to the bed he'd slipped out of earlier, mattress depressing slightly as he sat down.

"I'm here, Nev. It's, uh, still a little early if you want to go back to sleep, I can wake you later." he offered the yawning boy lying by his side who playfully swatted him, laughing tiredly.

"_'m already awake_, Ron, lying here thinking isn't going to do me much good on a day like this, might as well get up and get dressed already. Hang on, you great ginger perv, were you watching me sleep?" Neville asked playfully, the humour in his voice not quite reaching his eyes, and Ron apparently didn't answer quickly enough… as he was swiftly swatted by a pillow, going down in a hail of half-serious protests and laughter.

The brunette let out an exaggerated sigh and sat up, shucking blankets aside right and left as if nothing was wrong; business as usual. As if today was nothing more than an ordinary day for both of them.

"And another thing… you can stop watching me so intensely, my blue-eyed hawk, this isn't the first time I've done this," Neville smiled widely, sliding out of bed and facing away from his concerned boyfriend as he whispered barely audibly, "…_I won't break._"

"Neville, listen to me… I know, and I can't believe how strong you are for doing this on an annual scale, but this time is different to back then. Er, I mean this time you don't have-… um, well, your Gran is… well, she's gone to a better place, and, uh… this time all you've got …is me. And I'll be honest, I'm not really sure what I can offer you… I mean, when it comes to comfort I'm no Hufflepuff, but-…"

The redhead was vibrantly aware that he was rambling, but just couldn't seem to stop the verbal floodtide now that he'd managed to slip the most difficult two pieces of sensitive information into the same conversation… he felt like he HAD to keep going. As if rushing past them at great speed would somehow lessen the blow of discussing the subjects, which was exceedingly illogical, but then again, Hermione was usually the one that did this sort of thinking for him –stop him from saying anything too stupid.

Neville's two fingers came up and touched his lips, gently hushing the gushing torrent of babble he failed to contain on his own. The words were whispered over his lips as the mouth that uttered them came closer, "_We're Gryffindors, Ron, if anyone can get through something like this, it's a Gryffindor. I can be brave… as long as you are holding my hand._" Their lips touched briefly, more for the sake of contact than anything else; this was to be expected, as both parties had other things on their minds at the time, but the familiar intimacy was nice.

Stepping back, the brunette smiled genuinely for the first time that morning, "Come along, your Majesty… we have to get ready, McGonagall promised to apparate us both to, uh, …to St Mungos right after breakfast." The Herbology-enthusiast seemed excessively pleased with confounding his beloved redhead, and had immediately taken to referring to Ron as 'Your Majesty' or 'Your Highness' after the negative connotations of the '_Weasley is Our King_' incident died down. It was now a source of endless amusement… and a brilliant source of motivation to make the Keeper get a hustle on in times of dire stubbornness. "If it pleases your Highness, of course…"

Neville was a surprisingly funny person, when you got past the layer of ingrained shyness and silent self-preservation instincts. That fact alone both endeared the brunette to the youngest male Weasley, and frustrated him on an almost daily basis. In this case, it worked in Neville's favour; Ron responding to the taunting by throwing his best dress robes –a surprisingly sincere gift from Fred & George that he just knew came from Harry- on in a flurry of activity. Neville mirroring the actions at a reduced pace.

An officious rapping came at the door. "Misters Weasley and Longbottom, are you awake and decent?" called Professor McGonagall, already opening the door without awaiting an answer. She stared at the boys through her pince-nez glasses, a concerned expression sitting unusually on her normally-stern face. "I came to make certain you are both awake and ready for breakfast. Do you have everything you need to take with you or is there anything we will need to purchase from Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley beforehand?" the Transfiguration Professor asked.

Ron looked to Neville, who in turn petted his pockets to make certain everything was as it should be, and then shook his head. "No, uh, I mean no I don't need to get anything, but thank you for asking, Professor. I've got everything I need right here." His hand snaked into Ron's and clasped tightly to emphasise the point.

Visibly restraining herself from either smiling or rolling her eyes, the Head of Gryffindor nodded. "Be that as it may, you would do well to hurry downstairs and have something to eat to keep your strength up. I have requested the House Elves make your meals a wee bit earlier than usual today, so that we may be off on time. Now hurry along, you two." She swept the pair from the room without further ado.

Little was said over the well-meant spread of various breakfast foods, all of which went largely untouched as the pair grew increasingly nervous of the coming task. "We… we don't _have_ to do this now if you're not ready, Nev." Ron offered with a mouth half-full of bacon and eggs.

The other placed down his fork, foregoing stabbing the lone sausage lying on his plate in favour of giving up on the idea of eating any more food altogether. Visibly sighing, Neville responded, "Ron, I know you mean well and I love you for it, but… I do have to do this. Even if it scares me to go and see them; even if it tears out a piece of my soul every time I look at their blank eyes and see no recognition for who and what I am to them, I have to go. After all, with Gran finally gone, they're the only family I have left… besides you, that is."

Ron dropped his fork, also giving in. As delectable as the toast and assorted jams looked, should he take another bite, the redhead might not make the apparition without being violently, and colourfully, ill all over the place. Definitely not a good first impression to make on future in-laws…

Even if said potential in-laws would probably never know his name or understand what he meant to the son they did not remember; the attempt would be made… for Neville's sake. To visit his parents, like he and his gran had done every year during the school's Christmas holidays.

McGonagall had seemingly noticed their lack of appetite and appeared beside them at the empty-of-all-but-them Gryffindor Table, with nary a sound. "Are you ready to go now, Mister Longbottom?" she questioned, looking directly at Neville, who was shaking slightly now that the implications of today's visit had sunk in. Normally his grandmother would appoint a time to go and a time to be home by, and they would abide by it, come hell or high water… but this was entirely up to him for the very first time, and he required a little bit of forceful handling.

Ron took charge, "It's alright, Nev, trust me. Yeah, Professor, we're ready to go…" He pushed out from the table and stood up, proceeding to walk around the end of the table to grab Neville from where he seemed suddenly frozen in place. The redhead rubbed his boyfriend's upper arms a little from behind, a precise movement that was non-threatening and comforting, continuing for a moment until the other teen jerked out of his trance.

"Wha-? Yes Professor, sorry Professor, I was just-… We can go now."

With an elegant gesture, Professor McGonagall waved away his fumbled apologies. "No need to apologise Mister Longbottom, we can wait until you are ready to go. For now, there is a carriage awaiting us at the front of the castle, and Thestrals do not like the cold so we must make haste."

A multi-coloured multitude of freshly-fallen snow was a dazzling sight for the eyes, and it greeted the three as they slid out of the main castle doors, and directly into the waiting carriage that would ferry them to Hogsmeade, so that the Professor might apparate them both to their destination.

Throughout the short journey, snowflakes of all colours and designs fell upon the travellers; McGonagall attempted to keep a straight, even expression as she batted them about like a kitten with string, and Neville kept catching them in a palm as he rested his head on Ron's shoulder. It really was a winter wonderland…

Despite the contented haze that fell over the pair, Ron could have sworn McGonagall kept darting glances at them before muttering, "_The Headmaster has really outdone himself with this feat of magical tomfoolery…"_

Blinking in surprise, Ron noticed the carriage had stopped… some time ago if McGonagall's expression was read correctly. "Oh, er, what? Sorry Professor, I was just… thinking about things." He disembarked with Neville close on his heels, the Professor turning without a word and striding into the snow-laden but empty streets of early-morning Hogsmeade. When they reached the town centre, McGonagall turned to face the pair and gestured for them to come close.

Wordlessly they assented and strode to her sides, each feeling her hand fall upon their shoulders, gripping tightly as the world faded from normal perspective into one of indescribable scenery and strange sensations. Resolving again into the foyer of St Mungos, the trio standing amidst the designated appararition and deapparating zone, which was a recent addition that actively lessened the amont of accidental cross-being splinching, wherein two persons attempted to occupy the same space in time, at the same time. The new enchantments directed an incoming witch, wizard or passenger only to a free space.

Ron was proud to say his father had had a hand in the system's development.

An elderly nurse promptly greeted them –well, Neville at the least- by name. Tugging on Neville's cheek and commenting on how much he had grown, asking all the obligatory questions one might expect from a silvered-haired great aunty who had trapped their favourite grand-niece or nephew in a corner at a family re-union. Eventually, she led them down a series of hallways that the brunette already seemed to know by heart, and left them standing in front of a pair of large, magically sealed doors.

Professor McGonagall wordlessly made it clear she was going to wait outside, and stood off to one side, by the large sign on the right wall that read, 'Janus Thickey Ward'. The ward for magical maladies that could not be cured by modern magics.

The ward… wherein Neville's parents waited for someone they could not remember, and the person who loved him.

Neville was shaking a little, his lips moving over and over in a small dance that Ron realised was words, and leant in to hear more clearly. '_Gryffindors are brave and courageous, I am a Gryffindor, I can do this… Gryffindors are brave and courageous, I am a Gryffindor, I can do this… Gryffindors are brave and courageous, I am a Gryffindor, I can do this…_' Neville breathed.

The redhead smiled, pecking the other boy on the cheek to cease the muttering, and sliding his warm hand into the shaking one of the boy he loved most. He felt fingers reflexively clutch tightly about his own and wisely said nothing as he stared at the doors… silently asking whether the other felt ready or not to do this.

Neville moved closer almost imperceptibly, to whisper, "_With you by my side, and your hand in mine, I am brave enough to do anything…_"

In unison, the pair stepped forwards, and the doors began to open… and neither of them felt afraid, for the other's courage filled them with strength.

**~The End~**

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**To be honest, I write the first thing that comes into my head upon seeing the prompt, so I hope this made sense to all of you.**

**If you liked it, or even if you didn't, let me know.**

**~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~**


	2. Prompt 2: Zombies (Day 2)

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in Harry Potter, however, RedVines was sort of something we came up with on my page through collaboration.**

**I am partaking in the INFINITY CHALLENGE, 30 Days, 30 Prompts per OTP.**

**From the Potter Fandom, I have chosen: Ron/Neville, or 'RedVines'.**

In all honesty, this Prompt was far more difficult than the original, and ended up as it is... because it was the only thing to come to mind.

TRY TO ENJOY.

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**INFINITY CHALLENGE: HARRY POTTER**

**[Unusual OTP: Ron/Neville]**

**Ship Name: REDVINES**

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**Day 2: Zombies**

**~*Delicious Choices*~**

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Whoever had said, '_Zombies know nothing but hunger, they are mindless beasts, slave to their need for flesh_', had been entirely wrong… but most likely, delicious.

As it turns out, Zombies -or at very least, those who were once people of the magical wizarding world before their turning- retained a certain amount of self-awareness, consciousness, whatever you wish to call it. They were still part-human at least in their own mind, and could not bear to be as depraved as the muggle zombies; shambling about grunting, chasing down innocents for flesh and tearing them apart as they screamed…

No, the ability to control themselves was presented the moment after turning…

Some chose the path of awareness, and others gave in to their immediate hunger. The latter were almost immediately disposed of by the remaining members of unturned faculty. In fact, after the very first few instances of turning, the Ministry themselves had imposed guidelines on how to identify a victim, and more importantly, how to destroy them if they should become a Primal.

In a battle of Magic against Zombies, it was generally magic that triumphed; although in a few rare instances, it was primal super-human strength that prevailed over the best of wizards and witches. Unless a Controlled was present to meet strength with undead strength.

Zombies did not need sleep, or to rest between kills, but those who used magic would eventually tire; therefore anyone who was turned was tested on their resolve, and either welcomed or destroyed. The choice itself was final. You could not change from a Primal to Controlled, or vice versa, they did not know why this was… but it was so.

Voldemort had unknowingly released this curse upon the world, thinking only of destroying his enemies by any means necessary -without heed as to why the ancient dark magics of necromancy and resurrection were buried and guarded. The late Dark Lord had driven the dead to rise from their graves, no great problem as the hordes of undead legions were easily destroyed within moments of rising by trained Aurors; or decomposed on their own as they were exposed to the elements.

However, the problem began when some Muggles in the surrounding area –on a leisurely Friday night out on the town- were chased down and bitten, changing almost instantly into ravenous flesh-eating Primal creatures who wanted nothing more than to tear the Aurors trying to save them, into various bite-size pieces. Many Ministry officials were killed or wounded horrifically in theat original battle that began the world-wide war on their undead counterparts; crawling from the battlefield covered in bruises and bitemarks, changing in moments to reveal that there were two separate species of walking dead roaming the world.

Voldemort himself had been destroyed; the unwitting sacrifice required to conjure the dead. Which was a relief as far as Harry Potter was concerned, but the immediate issue was that the 'Chosen One' was now the 'Dead and Decomposing One'. As were all the Gryffindors remaining at Hogwarts, and most of Ravenclaw…

No one knew who had been first affected within the wizarding school, but it was heavily insinuated that the dark magic had been targeted at eradicating Harry Potter specifically, with the zombie uprising a rather spectacular side effect.

Perhaps Voldemort had understood what he had unleashed and plotted for it to happen this way, to turn Harry against his friends and followers at Hogwarts starting with his own housemates… in the most intimate and debilitating of ways…

A far more likely probability was that the former Dark Lord had simply become impatient with hiding from Dumbledore and plotting in secret, growing reckless in his haste. Throwing caution to the wind by invoking dark powers beyond even his abilities to control, and letting them loose in the worlds –both magical and muggle. In either case, it worked out as intended (or not).

Harry had been infected by the dark magic, it's slimy tendrils working their way inside and under his skin as he slept; leaving the boy to wake in fear, to watch his body dying before his eyes in horrified fascination. Not even having the time to call for help as it all went black...

By the time the Chosen One had once-again regained consciousness, it was already far too late to do anything. Not only was the so-called 'Chosen One' quite dead, but he was also exceptionally, _ravenously_, hunger; _and in a room filled with half a dozen of his hale, hearty and utterly delectable-looking dormmates._

Although it had affected only Harry initially, it swiftly spread through Gryffindor House; starting with his closest friends, their siblings and ever outward… until an unstoppable epidemic of reanimation had slowly turned each and every member of the brave house upon each other.

The only upside being that, unlike Primals -who would tear you apart for flesh and leave barely enough to resurrect as a zombie; the Controlled –though programmed to spread the magical reanimation infection to all uninfected- are far more delicate at the process. A single bite, anywhere, will usually do it. Though a deep scratch had also been known to turn an individual…

Not that Ron didn't particularly appreciate how much pleasanter it was that Harry didn't immediately start eating his intestines as he slept, but awakening to find your best friend looking like death itself and looming over your bed in the middle of the night with the intention to grant you the same complexion… wasn't exactly a great improvement in his book.

To say he had been startled at first was an understatement… and Harry had taken a pillow to his undead face while Ron tried to find his voice to yell and warn the others. The redhead only thinking better of it after Neville, the closest to him, turned over and snuggled into his pillow; resolving there and then to just deal with whatever was wrong with Harry silently, to spare the others a rude awakening and much panic.

For his part, this new, undead Harry, was exceptionally apologetic for scaring the 'Bloody Hell' out of his best friend; but he did make clear his somewhat disturbing intentions. Which naturally led to the Keeper's vehement insistent that he'd let Harry 'do no such bloody thing!'

Unfortunately, this new zombified Potter had retained his highly persuasive charms, and spent a good ten minutes very cleverly arguing out the reasons as to why Ron should just let Harry bite him, '_a little_', and have it over with. Starting the closing statement with, "Well, I'm going to do it anyway the next time you fall asleep, so…"

Convincing enough.

It wasn't like he'd wanted to be a zombie, _Controlled_ or otherwise… but when your best mate asks you for something, at some point you're gonna cave and give in to make them happy; even if it meant zombification. Because if letting your best mate kill you wasn't the spirit of true friendship, Ron didn't know or care what was…

"Oh, alright then," the redhead sighed, giving up all pretence of argument and checking on the body bedside him before shutting his eyes. He didn't need to see to know where the other was; the cold body leaning closer and closer, hovering over him like some giant bird of prey, almost hesitating…

Ron sighed and quashed down a terrible pun about 'not being able to get it going', and nodded imperceptibly, a silent assignation of permission that he knew his best mate needed. As Harry's strangely sharp teeth pierced the flesh of his shoulder, and he tried not to make a sound, the redhead found himself wondering how Neville was going to react to all of this…

The Keeper had made Harry swear not to turn him, on his unlife, before agreeing; it had been his one major condition. If anyone was going to do it, it would be him, and ONLY if the brunette wanted it… which –come to think of it- the other very well might not, too. Which was fair enough either way, in his books.

'_Big decision, becoming undead, not something to rush into…_' Ron smirked lopsidedly at the hypocritical thought.

The thoughts were cut short as Harry withdrew, and sat watching him eerily, seemingly waiting for something. Darkness, like a soothing balm that coated over the hot, throbbing pain in his shoulder, encroached on his vision; drawing Ron down, down, and yet down again, into a place of nothingness. If this was what it was like to die, then he really actually couldn't see the problem with it, honestly… It was kind of… nice and comforting. Not scary at all.

Soon enough, though, consciousness was returning at a rapid rate. Two highly insistent thoughts entered his head in tandem. The first, that he was utterly, insatiably, ravenously hungry; the second, was the knowledge that he could easily push the gnawing hunger aside if he wanted, and remain this, sort-of human but undead creature. Both options were equally as tempting…

From beside his undead body, the redhead felt Neville shift about in his sleep seeking the missing body-warmth of his boyfriend, and immediately reached a swift decision. He would stay as Ron, in this new undying form, because there were others who still needed him…

It was that, or adhere to the ravenous hunger that would have him tear apart every warm body within reach, including the gorgeous teen stretched out by his side; the thought ran a cold chill down his dead spine.

"Still in there, Ron?" asked the familiar voice of Harry, his words having a surprisingly otherworldly cadence to them if you listened carefully.

He patted himself down theatrically, "Er, yeah, I think so… the only thing that's changed is that I'm still dead and… hang on," he lifted the sheets to look at something and blanched, "Uh, I don't think that's physically possible, given we're dead and all…"

Harry rolled his glowing, opaque eyes behind the familiar frames of his black-rimmed glasses in exasperation. "Trust you to immediately concern yourself with something like that. Probably magic… As far as I know it's the only thing keeping us semi-human when we 'change', not that I know how I got infected, just that I'm dead and have an urge to bite human flesh." He frowned, looking around the room at the other sleepers. "Alright, you're good to go and spread the undead fun about… so I'll just be over there, with Dean and Seamus, if you need me."

The Chosen One got up and wandered across the room, to a set of adjacent beds and gently shook one of the sleepers. Ron stopped looking, feeling somewhat apathetic after his great adventure in the unknown lands of death and, honestly, more concerned about the other male snuggled beside him. One who Ron knew was downright certain to notice at least _one _of the big problems that he was sporting at this very moment…

The other's hand must have brushed past his cooling skin by accident, as Neville woke in great alarm and looked straight into his glowing, dead eyes. He decided that he must have looked like something that had just crawled out of a muggle horror movie at the way Neville blanched in instinctive terror. Ron threw his hand out to clasp over the other's mouth, stifling the scream before it could burst forth and wake the other sleepers. "Hey, hey, no it's alright… I can explain," he soothed, looking directly into Neville's wide, frightened eyes and sighed as the trembling of the other failed to cease.

He didn't fight him, though. That fact did not go unnoticed by the undead redhead, and it warmed his stilled heart to know that no matter how frightened he was, Neville still trusted in Ron's promise that he was safe, that Ron wouldn't hurt him. The brunette reached up and slowly pushed aside the muffling hand with his own shaking ones, making a sad choking noise in place of words as the pale lips opened and closed soundlessly.

Neville cleared his throat and tried again, "R-Ron? Wh-what… you're so cold, and your eyes…?" he asked, raising his hand to trace his fingers across the undead skin, feeling the cold radiating out of Ron as if the other was a walking ice sculpture. Gazing scrutinisingly into the almost-opaque orbs, the Herbology genius finally took control of his fear and whispered, "_What happened to you, Ron?_"

Ron drew in an unnecessarily deep breath –heck, who knew if he even needed to breathe anymore? Though he did because it was a comforting sensation- and blew it out. Remaining silent a moment before answering, "It's a long story, Nev… but the highlights include –like always- something happened to Harry and my getting involved in it involuntarily. The idiot's gone and woken up on the undead side of -er, _unlife_- with a thing for biting people. I don't know how to explain it but, basically a while ago I woke up to him hovering over me, kind of like that," he helpfully pointed to where Harry was hovering over Seamus, conversing quietly.

"…and after a long argument, the git somehow convinced me to let him do, well …_this_, to me. Tosser's bloody persuasive when he wants to be, I tell you! The biting thing, though… it's some kind of instinct to try and turn everyone around you, and he was kind of polite enough to ask first. Wasn't really that pleased about it, but I did made him promise me something very important before I agreed…"

He reached out and took Neville's chin in his hand, looking directly into the other's eyes as he said, "I made him promise not to turn you, or let anyone else touch you… except… me." The redhead suddenly became sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck as he said, "Er, that is… only if you want to. I mean, we can still be together like this, but realistically Neville –I'm dead. Everything works and all," he gestured helplessly downwards and would have blushed if it was still physically possible for him. Neville's eyes followed his sweeping gesture, the tips of his ears going pink as he understood and had to cover his mouth to avoid laughing at his suddenly-undead boyfriend.

Well, laughter Ron could live with…

If it was a shock waking up to find Harry Potter –_who everyone expected strange and unusual things to happen to_- hunched over them, asking if they would mind ever-so-much if he could perhaps give them the kiss-of-unlife with his teeth...

Then certainly waking to the news that your boyfriend is no longer among the living but still virile, _must _be one of those moments you question if you had gotten on Snape's bad-side at some point and the Potions-master had slipped a little 'something extra' into your pumpkin juice the previous evening. All things considered, Neville was taking this remarkably well…

Or so Ron had thought, until…

From nowhere, a finger prodded him in the arm. The owner of said finger was frowning deeply, as if lost in thought; remaining silent for such a long time that Ron actively started to get concerned for the other's state of mental health…

They both pretended to ignore the accented yelps that came from across the room as Harry lost patience with his dormmates' inability to make a decision, and made it for them. Ron began to drum his fingers on his knee nervously… but it wasn't until after two more people had cried out that Neville finally broke the tense silence with a heartfelt, "I don't care, you idiot."

"Er…" responded Ron eloquently, unsure how to take this particular response.

Slowly a smile spread across the other's face as he sat up in the bed, pressing them closer together to whisper, "_I meant, you adorable idiot, that I don't care if you are alive, dead or some kind of newt-human hybrid… I love you._"

He flushed adorably, realising how bold he sounded, and Ron found himself smiling in reciprocation at how unusual it was for the brunette to be so forward about, well, _anything_. "BUT," Neville said in a firmer, louder, voice. "I don't want to grow old without you, Ronald Billius Weasley, even if it means I have to die to stay with you forever."

Suddenly, the brunette paused and groaned, hiding his embarrassment-flushed face in both hands, deliberately not looking everywhere but at Ron. "Oh Merlin's baggy Y-fronts, I sound like some badly-written, love-sick idiot, from one of your mother's soppy romance novels… WHICH I deny ever reading, not now, not ever, and certainly not while I was waiting for you to wake up on Christmas morning last year at your house." His eyes darted theatrically about between his fingers, cheeks aflame as the brunette tried not to laugh and spoil the over-dramatic scene.

Harry reappeared in their vision, startling the pair out of their own little world. "If you two are finished having a lovey-dovey moment, I need your –well, _Ron's_ help- turning the rest of Gryffindor House. Neville, if you don't want to make the decision right away, that's fine, but I should warn you… some of them might wake up not-so-coherent and more '_I want to eat your flesh_', so be ready to use '_Reducto_' at a moment's notice."

The still-human eyes went wide, turning on Ron and said in a firm voice said, "I've said this before –albeit under different circumstances- but, Ron, _BITE ME_… and then we'll deal with your other little problem…"

The brunette ignored the sound of protest Ron made at his choice of the word, 'little'… while Neville laughed, quietly consoling the other that it was a joke before taking a pillow to the face. Harry simply rolled his eyes, striding straight out the dorm door to find someone else to turn, as the atmosphere in the room became more sombre and serious…

More… exciting, as the redhead gently pressed the other back down, sliding off a shoulder of the blue-and-white pinstriped pyjamas the other favoured, and maintained eye contact as he eagerly bent to his task…

~)0(~

It could be said, that Hogwarts was no longer like any other Wizarding School in the world; and that statement was a paradox in and of itself, as it contrived to be both, utterly accurate, and a complete falsehood at the same time. For Hogwarts still acted as a school of magic, although almost everyone inhabiting the planet was now either a member of the walking deceased, or dead.

The school contained three things at current, students who were either undead or still deciding their fates; and the graves for those who had turned, but chosen the Primal path. Certainly, extra measures, charms and incantations had been taken to prevent the Primals from breaking in, but otherwise, life went on as usual.

While some remained alive within the castle walls, including certain members of the teaching staff, none feared for their lives or even gave a thought towards living amongst the Controlled members of the undead human race. Sadly, though, a handful of students, and the former Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor (one Dolores Umbridge of the Ministry of Magic) had forced the faculty's hand into destroying them by reanimating as Primals; but the majority of the school body remained intact and in control of their lesser undead instincts. _Life,_ or unlife as it were, _continued as if the world had not changed in the least._

Faculty taught, students practiced their skills and learnt to control their magic; and even _Quidditch_ was played upon the grounds –although the recently 'zombified' school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, had had to get rather creative in her magical and medical practices now that the majority of student's bodies no longer retained the ability to heal injuries. There were some drawbacks to being the walking undead, but not very many…

The main difference in the school's practices thanks to this global crisis -apart from slight variations to the rules of Quidditch to incur less damage- was in the fare offered at the designated school mealtimes. It had been discovered early on that the Controlled could easily stomach normal food, but tended to demand more meat in their diet. Though magic could restore certain functions to the body, it made those it did –especially digestion- an incredibly lethargic process, therefore much of the student body and teaching staff could go many days before needing to eat.

Which was a positive fact Hermione Granger, at the least, advocated; now she could spend many days studying without the bother of having to rest every twelve or so hours, much less deal with the rigmarole of stopping to eat every handful of hours. The was her idea of paradise… and not a single person had yet contradicted her or challenged the notion, so the brightest witch of her age benefitted from being one of the immortal undead.

And, as they sat beneath the Whomping Willow without the fear of being attacked by the feisty flora as it registered them as 'unliving' and therefore not a viable threat, a redhead and brunette couple watched a pantheon of stars drift lazily across the sky. Certainly the pair had changed a little, for not even the hardiest of aurors would remain unchanged under the circumstances, and it had taken time to become comfortable in their new bodies… but the inherent love and attraction they felt had not altered. Even in these new, undead and often quite cold forms, the pair were still a matched set to the end of time itself…

Though sleep was not strictly a daily necessity anymore, like breathing or eating, many Controlled still indulged in the ritualistic behaviour for the sensation of normality it brought. Ron felt Neville wriggle closer on his chest, glowing eyes half-lidded and obviously almost asleep; still as beautiful as ever despite the addition of paler-than-normal skin, mildly-opaque eyes, and the way their bodies radiated cold instead of warmth. Lights in the darkness above twinkled merrily, defying the strange world by remaining the same stars that had shone down on the Earth even before the founders of this school were born…

How strange that something could remain so completely untouched, fixed in their role, when down on the planet the entire world had changed literally overnight on a mad man's wishes. Shaking his head of shaggy red hair, Ron smiled and quickly glanced down to check he hadn't dislodged the drowsy brunette. "The world sure is beautiful tonight, Nev." He said, offhand, looking about them with a new appreciation for everything that thrived about them.

The other failed to respond, but turned so his face was hidden, entire body relaxing as he fell asleep with a few muttered words. Ron ruffled his hand through Neville's silky brown hair, grinning idiotically as he whispered, 'Love you too…' to the adorable corpse in his arms.

Lights flickered on and off periodically in the castle windows, voices raising and falling with night classes now a popular way to pass the nocturnal hours of restlessness… and the redhead watched until the barest streak of light tinged the cloudy skies above, entranced by the normality of it all.

Then again, he thought was a strangely serious tone as his eyes began to slide shut of their own accord, no matter how much the world changed… he wouldn't really mind as long as he had Neville by his side…

_And _that_, was the clichéd, soppy romance-novel-he-swore-he'd- never-read-before _truth, Ron thought, and swiftly fell asleep as the dawn light began to overtake the skies above. Completely at peace.

**~The End~**

* * *

Prompt 2/30 Down.

Let me know what you thought, yes it was a little strange, but it was the most unique thing I could think of at 3am.

**~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~**


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